


Soldier's Heart

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Coping, F/M, Friendship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, hints of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric has seen what war does to people, how some cannot quite leave it behind. He expects it to follow a fair number of their merry band home. He thinks, with a glance at her straight back and steeled eyes, it might be Cassandra.<br/>He does not think it will be him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It happens in the first few weeks after the fall of Corypheus.

In truth, he would realise later, it began that very night - the lack of sleep, the restlessness, the urge to _run_. But the worst of it happens on the night of Merrill’s name-day.

“Surprise!”

Between him and Rivaini, they manage to assemble most of the old crowd. Fenris almost missed it, but slips in behind Donnic and Aveline, and though Sebastian is absent he sends a crate of elderflower wine for the woman. When Daisy enters the tavern, it is the last thing she expects, but she squeals with joy at the sight of her friends, hugging Varric particularly tight.

“Oh! Oh, you shouldn’t have!”

“Of _course_ we should,” he says with a tone of infinite patience, beaming up at her. “Not about to forget my Daisy’s name-day.”

He does not have Bianca to hand when he hears it - the slightly-too-loud voice of a woman caught unawares by her friend. The shriek is piercing, and it cuts him to the quick -

_Varric, on your left!_

\- and then he is hunkered between the table and the pair, crossbow ready to fire. They take one look at his face and run up the stairs in fear.

The inn falls silent, and Varric is acutely aware of everything - his sharp breaths, the soft _drip drip drip_ of a leaking ale tap, the creaking door closing slowly. His hands are shaking. Bianca is _heavy_. He does not remember where he picked her up from.

“Varric?” Merrill’s hand is light on his arm, but he starts, forcing a smile.

“Sorry. Here’s me ruining the party.” He shoulders the crossbow, taking a deep - albeit shaky - breath. “I should get some air.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Naah, you stay here and enjoy the fine wine. I won’t be long.” It is a long walk to the door, but the fresh air is grounding, and as he exits he already feels calmer, the slight sting of the sea air in his nostrils.

_Just surprised_ , he tells himself. _Just surprised._

The door opens again behind him, and he is not even remotely surprised to find the captain of the guard emerging. Aveline does not say anything for a long time, and Varric thinks she might never speak again - the way she stands is as stone.

“Good that you’re back,” she says finally. “Wasn’t sure you would.”

“Couldn’t leave you all behind, now, could I?” he points out with a slight smile. It is not what she means, and they both know it, but with her he relies more on the unspoken. It is something she understands.

“City’s still recovering,” she says softly, leaning against the wall. “People are scarred. You have to look at their eyes to see it - the way they start when someone shouts.”

“Won’t be easy. City’s seen a lot of shit.”

He can feel her gaze on the back of his neck. "So have you."

He shrugs. "We all have. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

She punches his shoulder gently. "You better be. I’m just getting used to hearing your name on the street again."

He laughs at that, and she escorts him back inside to enjoy the rest of the evening without event.

* * *

Kirkwall lives on, despite the worst that the world can throw at it, and Varric slips back into city life with apparent ease. Coin flows, people talk and he looks to the sky less and less.

Of course, he acknowledges, it is easy to lie to the general population. To lie to Daisy...

"I'm _fine_ , just tired."

She does not look convinced. "You said that _yesterday_."

"It was just as true then." Which is not a lie - he had slept badly for a fair number of weeks now, covering his yawns with any number of excuses and alibis that could not be checked. Privately, he worries that he has forgotten how to sleep in a bed untouched by the Rift's shadow.

"But you haven't been out in _days_ ," continues Merrill in a quiet voice. "It's not good, to hide away all the time."

"Daisy, I've been _busy_. Books don't write themselves, you know what I'm like when I get into it." Another half-truth. He had written _something_ , but not nearly enough to justify the number of bottles that littered his desk.

She pulls a face, but lets it drop, perching on the edge of his bed. "Will you come out with me today, at least?"

He runs a hand over his unshaven cheeks, grimacing slightly. There is an excuse already on his tongue, but he settles for a compromise. A day out and about now might buy him another week of solitude.

“Yeah, yeah, just let me… freshen up.”

“That’s probably for the best,” she agrees, smile kind.

 

* * *

 

They walk through the old market, and Varric’s mind wanders a little.

What was it about this place that had him on edge? This was his home, his sanctuary. He had been chomping at the bit to get back here. He had all but fled Skyhold to return, hitching a ride with a handful of soldiers at first light, his goodbyes fleeting. That had been a few months ago, and he he felt restless on the road - they all had. He had talked, at great length, about how setting that first pint of Marcher beer would be.

And yet he still felt restless. It made no sense.

They round the corner to the inn, and Merrill lets out a soft little sigh.

“Varric, are you happy?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m home.” He smiles up at her. “Back to how it was, right?”

She looks sad, and it tugs at his heart.

However, upon opening the door to the inn, he is quite taken by surprise. The pirate is a common fixture at the Hanged Man still, and seeing her entertaining patrons is hardly surprising.

Cassandra Pentaghast, however, is the last person he expects to see.

“Seeker?”

She smiles as she turns to face him. “Hello, Varric.”


	2. Chapter 2

Cassandra looks positively radiant - or perhaps, thinks Varric, that is simply how she looks when the war is over. Her smile is gentle, her sword sheathed, and he cannot help but notice the braid that lies down one shoulder in the more traditional Nevarran style rather than coiled over her head.

She seems strangely at peace. It is a good look for her.

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you -”

“You are?” she teases.

“C’mon, Seeker, you’re my  _ friend _ . Of course I’m happy to see you.” He grins, beckoning for a barmaid. “Let’s grab a drink, catch up.”

She smiles. “Perhaps some tea? The chill of the road still clings to me."

He leads her to one of the quieter tables, and asks for some of the tea kept for the more discerning patrons. At her raised eyebrows, he shrugs.

“If you got the impression from my book that this place was  classy , Seeker, you’re sorely mistaken.”

She laughs, shrugging. “I did not, but after getting to know you, I assumed you had simply exaggerated details.”

A barmaid - Elsa? He can never quite remember these days - brings them the tea, stilling the conversation for a moment, and Varric takes a moment to regard the woman sat in front of him. He realises with a pang of guilt that he had not really said goodbye when he had left Skyhold - in truth, the only person who had seen him go was Cullen, and the pair had shared a meaningful moment in hope for Kirkwall before the wagon had taken him far away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t really say -”

“You do not need to apologise for leaving,” she says with a smile. “We all knew how important this city is to you. And you had so much work to do… I only regret I could not be of more help.”

“Well, tourism always helps,” he deadpans, smirking.

She chuckles. “Then I shall endeavour to continue helping.”

“How long did you stay?”

“Only a week. Most Holy set me to task looking for leads and working towards rebuilding the Seeker Order. I have barely stopped travelling since.”

“How’s that going?”

She shrugs lightly. “As well as can be expected.”

“Which is to say…?”

“Not as well as I had hoped.”

He smiles slightly. “War’s still fresh in everyone’s minds. I imagine few want to think about fighting, even if the cause if good.”

“I suppose.” She sighs, hands wrapped around the cup of hot tea. “How fares the city?”

“Recovery’s slow. I haven't been as proactive as I could be,” he admits.

“Oh?”

“I wanted to get the book done first. It's been slower going than I planned.”

“Distracted?” she suggests.

He shrugs. “I don’t really know. It’s hard to focus, some days.”

“It was a difficult period for you, what with everything that happened.”

Another shrug, and a weak smile that he does not quite feel. “All in the past.”

“Is it?” she asks softly.

“Of course it -”

“I suppose… you do not dream. You would not be haunted in the same way I was.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I am concerned for you, Varric.” She leans in slightly, a kind look in her eyes. “The things you saw, the things  _ we  _ saw, in the name of the Inquisition… they are not easily forgotten, and it would be… understandable, to say the least, if you were moved to unease by them. It would make sense if you were left changed.”

He pulls back slightly. “You think I’m losing sleep over it.”

“I did. For a time, I found little comfort.”

“Seeker, no offense, but I’ve seen my fair share of weird shit, even before the Breach. I’m  _ fine _ ,” he stresses, and she offers a smile that does not quite reach her eyes.

“Of course. You know yourself best. But if you… well. I am here, should you need me.”

“Why  are you here?” he asks, leaning forward slightly.

“I was invited to follow up a lead.” She does not lie, Varric knows this about her, but something rings false about her words.

“Secret Seeker business, right?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Actually, I -”

“Elegant!” shrieks a patron behind her, silencing her, and Varric looks beyond her to see a familiar blonde at the door.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he mutters under his breath. At Cassandra’s curious look, he explains. “She had the means to help the city and decided personal gain was far more important.” 

Behind him, Isabela makes herself heard. “Lady Elegant! What a surprise. Last I heard, you’d upped sticks and moved to Wycome for good.”

She smiles thinly. “Yes, well, tides change, as well  _ you _ know.” She looks around, frowning slightly. “But your merry band is a member short, I see. Where’s Hawke?”

Varric feels things slow around him, feels the air grow thin as the group collectively take in a sharp breath -

_ “Where’s Hawke?” His heart aches, trying to deny the truth as he looks up at the Inquisitor and the Warden, hoping beyond hope to hear that familiar laugh behind them, because there was no way, no way that his best friend could be - no, not Hawke, anyone but Hawke, Maker, please - _

Cassandra’s voice presses against him. “Varric? Varric, you are not there, you are with me. Varric, focus on my voice.”

Somehow he had been moved from the main room of the inn to his own - where once he had seen his friends, now only his coatrack stood, and Cassandra kneels before him at the edge of his bed. He blinks, staring up at her. “Seeker?”

She cups his face, before pulling him into a tight hug.

“You are alright,” she murmurs. “You are here, in the Hanged Man. The past cannot hurt you here.”

He clings to her, his breathing coming back under control. “I thought - it felt like I was back there. Why did it feel like that? What’s wrong with me?”

“I have heard it called ‘soldier’s heart’, but in simple terms, your body remembers the war. It bears all the tragedies, and it recalls every hurt. It wants to protect you from all those feelings again, holding onto them tightly, so that they cannot lash out. But the past struggles to be free, and it hurts you. You can let it go, in time, just as I did.”

He lets out a harsh breath. “Why me?”

Her hand is soft on his head, brushing lightly. “Kirkwall exploded, and the city almost fell, and then I dragged you halfway across the world and into a war where you lost so much. You have suffered more than most, it is only natural that you bear the scars.” She stills for a moment. “I am sorry, for my part in that.”

Fingers tighten around her shirt, his face pressed into her shoulder, and he takes a deep breath. “Not your fault.”

“It is,” she murmurs, “but it does not do to dwell on what might have been." 

“I’m trying to forget, I’m  _ trying _ -”

“Oh, Varric, it is not as simple as drowning the memories. The drink will kill you, if you keep this up.”

He pulls away, looking up with anguished eyes. “I just - I can’t  _ sleep _ _,_ I can’t  _ look  _ at all those people in this rundown place, I can’t - I’m waiting for the drop, the next explosion, I feel like I’m going  _ crazy _ .”

Her hands slide down his arms to meet his own, squeezing softly. “Do not spiral, Varric. Sit back. You are exhausted.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine, I -”

“No, you are not. And that is… important to say out loud.”

He swallows, looking up at her. “I -”

She offers a weak smile. “You have been trying so hard to convince the world that you are alright, that you almost had yourself fooled. But it is alright now. You can say it. Nobody else will hear.”

“I… I’m not okay.” Something in his chest shifts, and he takes a deep breath. “I’m not okay.”

She squeezes his hands gently. “It is alright. I am here to help you, Varric.”

He lets out a sharp noise, relief and pain and something he cannot quite put his finger on bubbling up inside him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m not - Seeker, I’m  _ not _ okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I just want things to go back to normal.”

They sit, side by side on his bed, his hair untied and her armour left off. Varric feels stretched thin as he admits this simple fact. Cassandra listens with the patience of a woman who has understood these feelings - an idea that he will remember, when he feels better, and think on at great length.

"You can never go back to how it was. You wrote that, once." She looks sad at the thought, and he reaches for her hand. "When you lose something or someone, the world will never let you get that back, never in the same way. Kirkwall will recover, but as a different city to the one you remember. In the same way, you are already a different Varric Tethras to the man I met, and you will go on to become a different man still. It does not have to be a _bad_ thing - you can control that." She smiles. "You do not have to lose your kindness or your loyal heart. You do not even have to lose your total and utter disregard for any form of authority."

He leans against her. "But I end up losing _something_."

"Everyone does, Varric. It is part of growing. And that is all you are doing - growing past the hurt and grief."

They remain there for some time, hands clasped together tightly like a lifeline. She talks, slowly, of Anthony, and he listens in silence as she describes the angry young woman she had become in his wake. It was hard to reconcile that idea with this woman before him - but then, he realises, this was the same woman who had nearly stabbed him for being a smartass, and yet so different.

He says as much, quietly, and she rests her head against his.

“Will you ever let that go?” she says, the humour evident in her voice, and for the first time in hours he smiles.

“Naah.” He lets out a long sigh. “Thank you. For this - for being here.”

“You would do the same for me.”

“Not sure that I would,” he admits. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“You would tell me a story, and even if it was not true you would make me believe it.”

He chuckles. “You’re a good audience.”

“You are clever with words. You always know what people want to hear.” She presses a kiss to his crown. “But when it comes to this, you need to speak only the truth.”

“The truth is subjective,” he says automatically.

“Bullshit,” she says softly.

“Cut me some slack, I’m trying.” He considers what his truth might be, after all this time. Once it had been simple - everything had been simple, in its way. Even Bianca had been remarkably simple, despite the fact that they could not be together. Now… now even _that_ was a complicated haze of confused emotions. His truth had become muddied, lost in the stampede, and he did not know what to do without it.

For now, he supposes, he would have to make do, and find it along the way.

“How do I move on?”

“Talking helps.” She smiles. “You have a wonderful group of friends, I am sure they would talk with you for hours.”

He pulls a face, but she can feel the change in his expression as she nudges him. “What?”

“You would not be bothering them, you know,” she points out.

“Feels like I would.”

“Then simply ask them. If they are truly busy, they would not lie to you.”

“I can’t just -”

“Why not?”

He waves expansively. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why?”

“Seeker -”

“You think these things because you are trying to find ways out of what you perceive as a hindrance to them. Yet if this were happening to one of them - if Merrill were in this situation, would you turn away from her?”

“No! Andraste’s _ass_ , Seeker, never!”

“And you trust Merrill is a good person? Kind and generous?”

He frowns. “Of course -”

“So why are _you_ , Varric, capable of showing _her_ this patience, but _she_ is suddenly not capable of showing it to _you?_ ”

“I -” He stops, closing his mouth slowly.

Cassandra smiles slightly. “It is not a trick. But you sell yourself short, and do so to your friends if you think they would not help you. I have often thought this way, and it takes time to stop thinking like that, but… the truth is clear, if you give it a moment.”

He shakes his head slightly. “Wow.”

“Varric?”

“No, I… _shit_ , I’m used to giving out advice,” he admits with a smile, “not taking it.”

She rests against him once more, thumb idly stroking over his. “It will take time, and constant vigilance, to change the way you see yourself. But it is important. You cannot look after yourself if you are not higher on your own priority list. But you must look after yourself to take care of the other things you treasure. Therefore, you must rank yourself higher on that list.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“Perhaps I have always been this way,” she murmurs, though he can hear her smile. “Perhaps I was not born of humans, but of wise sages in the mountains.”

“And all that fighting is just your way of letting off steam. It’d make a hell of a story,” he laughs. The thought of writing, however, sobers him slightly.

She feels the change in him. “Your writing is slow. Perhaps it is time to focus on other things, for a time.”

“The city.”

“You do not have to fix every problem right away, but maybe it is a good time to think on what can be done.”

He thinks for a moment. “If I fix the city, I can fix myself, you mean?”

She makes a noncommittal noise. “Less fixing and more moving on. For both of you. The city cannot be made as it was. You cannot go backwards.”

“I’ll always be broken this way?”

“Never _broken_ , Varric. We are never broken unless we give in.” She shifts beside him, fingers tightening around his. “You are hurting, but you can heal.”

He takes a deep breath, the concept whirling around in his mind. He felt broken, but he trusted her to understand it a little better. She had come out the other side, and she was not so terrible. Perhaps she was right - perhaps, in time, he could be better.

“What do I do now?”

“Rest. Just rest, Varric, and everything else will come in time.”

“You sticking around?”

“For a while, yes.” She squeezes his fingers softly, before beginning to pull away. “I have a room a few doors down -”

“Stay.” His hand tightens around hers. “Please.” There is an excuse already lining up on his tongue - _you said you have nightmares, so it’s really for your benefit, Seeker_ \- but his head is heavy on her shoulder, his need for comfort weighing on his heart. She stills at his side, before her arm comes around his shoulders, legs swinging back up onto the bed.

“Will it get better?” he murmurs, feeling the tendrils of sleep curling around him.

She shifts slightly, and he lets out a soft sigh as her shoulder gives way and his head rests on softer parts. “Of course, Varric,” she whispers, stroking his hair. “Of course.”

Sleep claims him, and he does not wake for a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

Varric spends the next few days trying to forget how to cope.

 

The empty bottles are the first to go, swept up in Cassandra’s arms and disposed of without comment or judgement. He feels like he should explain himself to her, but she silences him with a look and reminds him to keep going forward, so he takes a deep breath and drops the remaining full bottles off in Rivaini’s usual room.

(She comes to him later, pressing a softer-than-usual kiss to his temple, but says nothing of the free booze. Her silent support of his choice, he supposes.)

Next, they assault his desk - scraps of gibberish and abandoned nonsense are thrown into the fire - much to Cassandra’s reluctance.

“C’mon, Seeker, it doesn’t even make _sense_.”

“I know, but…” She sighs, looking wistful. “It seems wrong to burn your words.”

He smiles. “Flatterer.”

Her cheeks redden, but she throws another letter into the flames anyway. “Will you keep the rest?”

“Yeah. I’m going to finish the book one day, just… not right now.”

She smiles. “That is a good attitude to have.” Sitting at the end of his bed, she regards him as he settles at his desk. “So what now?”

He toys with a quill for a moment. “I suppose I need to get to work. There are a few promising projects I could put my support to.” He picks up one of the propositions from his desk, frowning as he gets into the fine print. “Not this one, though…”

And so he continues, reading and discarding, writing short missives to people ready to send, and he does not notice her absence until she returns with cold meats and hot tea and a bright-eyed elf who insists on feeding him before she will let him get back to work.

“Daisy, I can look after myself.”

Cassandra shoots him a look, but says nothing. Merrill simply passes him a bread roll.

“Isabela is looking for contracts,” she says lightly. “I think she’s tired of being on land again.”

“Always was happier on the sea. Hawke always said -” He stops himself, swallowing, but as he looks up at Merrill’s concerned face, he offers a weak smile. “Hawke always said she might as well have been born a fish.”

Merrill laughs, a soft sad noise. “Hawke said a lot of funny things like that.”

“Yeah. Remember when Broody refused to talk to us because Hawke said he looked like a Gallows statue?”

“Oh, yes!”

He chuckles. “Of course, not talking only _added_ to the statuesque descriptions…”

Merrill reaches for his hand, and he realises he is crying. But the ache does not hurt as much, so he supposes that is a good thing.

Beyond them, Cassandra slips out the door.

* * *

Within a week he has slipped, a bottle and a half drunk before he realises. He throws the empty one at the wall, furious at himself.

“Stupid - stupid n’ _weak_ -”

He does not see her come back, but he is glad that she does.

“Oh,” she says quietly.

“Seeker -”

Her hands are quick to hoist him out of the carnage. “Oh, come here. Be careful -”

“Din’ - Seek’r, m’ _sorry_ \- I din mean -” His hands grasp uselessly at her arms as she puts him to bed, tiptoeing over the broken shards. “M’sorry -”

“Hush, Varric,” she murmurs, patient and kind. “We will do better tomorrow, yes?”

“Promise. Promise promise _promise_.”

He cries, and she holds him whilst he grieves his mistakes, and in the morning she pulls him to his feet, sets him to task and tells him off when he dwells on the day before.

It is a strange feeling, to be able to step forward, but he thinks he might be able to get the hang of it before long.

* * *

They are in his room, her at the foot of his bed rereading one of his books and he replying to letters at his desk, when it comes to him.

“How did you know?” At her blank stare, he elaborates. “How did you know to come here, now?”

“Oh. Merrill and Aveline wrote to me - quite independent of each other, in truth. Aveline had her suspicions, of course - she has seen war. But neither of them were certain.”

He nods. “So that lead you were chasing was -”

“You.”

He laughs. “Again.”

She frowns slightly before recalling the circumstances of their meeting, and she laughs with him. “I suppose so.”

“You know, you're always welcome to just stop by to say hi,” he points out. “Not _every_ visit has to be this dramatic.”

“Next time,” she smiles, returning her attention to the pages.

* * *

He spends the day with Daisy, and comes back to find the Seeker in her travelling cloak, laughing at one of Aveline’s stories.

“You’re leaving.” He cannot stop the lump in his throat at the idea that he would not have her hand to hold through the coming days.

“I rather wish I could stay. It is… welcoming, here.”

“You _could_ , you know.” He offers a weak smile. “Build the Seekers up in the hills here. We've got an empty quarry you can have.”

She looks sad, and it tugs at his heart. “Perhaps, in time. But I have much to do before I can begin to think of a home for my Order.”

Merrill pulls her into a lingering hug. “You _will_ come back, won't you?”

“If I am able, of course I will. You have yet to teach me the art of knitting in a straight line.”

Varric shifts his weight as she and Aveline exchange soft words, before she turns finally to him, smile kind.

“Cassandra, I can't thank you enough -”

Her gloved hand cups his cheek. “There is no need, ever. Your strength is all your own, you know this. Everything you have accomplished so far? That was you. I simply gave you a map. You are a work in progress, Varric. Never forget that. It is alright to fail, so long as you _try_.”

He nods, smiling as she presses her lips to his forehead. “I'll try to remember that.”

“Oh, you _can't_ leave us just yet!” says Isabela in a sing-song voice. “You haven't even played with his chest hair, never mind slept with him!”

“Rivaini,” he warns.

She smiles, savouring her victory. “Touched a nerve, have I?”

“Not at all,” says Cassandra demurely. “Only you are quite incorrect. We have slept together most nights.” She smiles wryly at Varric, who basks in the shocked look on Isabela’s face.

“You're joking. _Tell_ me she's joking.”

“Seeker of Truth, Rivaini. Not sure she _can_ lie.”

The pirate howls, and Cassandra chuckles as she bids them all a fond farewell.

Varric follows her out the door. “Have I apologised enough for her?”

She laughs. “No need. Dorian was the same when he heard I was coming to Kirkwall.” There is a glint in her eyes as he takes her hands. “I suppose everyone thinks it. I cannot say they are... _entirely_ wrong."

“Yeah, well, a romantic novel is not exactly standard apology material between friends,” he admits. “But I don't want you to think you have to say -”

“I know.” She smiles. “But I was terribly enamoured with the idea. With the Divineship hanging over me… it would have been hard. Now, with our duties so divided, even more so.”

He shrugs slightly. “I'll be better, though. Maybe one day?”

“Do not do this for me,” she warns in a quiet voice. “Do this only for you.”

“I know.”

And then she smiles, a soft private thing. “But I look forward to that day, should it come.”

He pulls her into one last embrace, a final farewell before he lets her out into the night. “Stay safe, Seeker. I expect you to write.”

She laughs, one hand raised as she steps back. “I promise no grand tales of redemption, dwarf. That is _your_ job.”


	5. Chapter 5

They say time heals all wounds, and Varric knows this is only half-true.

He wages a war with himself, trying to find his new status quo. There are good days - great days, where the memories are as gifts, and he smiles at the balance of things, revels in the freedom and writes to the Seeker of the progress his city makes.

Of course, there are also bad days - days in which the bottle is not deep enough, in which he curses himself for being wretched. There are even worse days, days of broken things and bloodied knuckles. He tells her of them too, reluctantly, apologies flowing from his quill in the light of a new day. Always, she tells him to forgive himself.

Always, he tries.

 

* * *

 

She writes, and he tries to remember.

_Time will take you part of the way, but you must be ready to wear the scars with pride._

 

* * *

 

The Exalted Council is a grand affair - the first real state business for the new Viscount of Kirkwall, and one he was glad to do. It truly warms his heart to see his once-dear companions again, all with their own stories to tell. He laughs at Bull’s bad jokes, marvels at Sera’s new scar, impresses Vivienne with his manners and gets an appreciative nod from Cullen.

But in truth, Varric has eyes only for Cassandra, a soft smile on his lips as he watches her greet the Divine with open arms.

“Taking a look at the Divine, are we?” leers Dorian at his side.

“Of course. Even a Marcher can appreciate Most Holy’s radiance.”

“You are so full of it, Varric. Just kiss her.”

“I know you Tevinter love a scandal, but I think Nightingale would kill me.”

“You _know_ who I mean.”

“Point still stands.”

He laughs at that. “Well, I stand to earn a pretty sum if you get on with it. Seal the deal before the Council’s final word, and I'll cut you in on a fifth.”

Varric chuckles. “And when _she_ finds out?”

“Oh, I'm not about to take the fall for you. I _like_ you, Varric, but I don't have a death wish.” He saunters off, and Varric steps forward as Cassandra watches Leliana move on to other guests.

"Fancy meeting you here, Seeker."

She turns, a surprised smile on her face. "Varric! Or should that be Viscount Tethras now?"

"Oh, don't you start. C'mere." He pulls her into a tight embrace. " _Maker_ , it's good to see you."

"And you. I confess, I was not sure you would come."

"Wild nugs couldn't keep me away." He pulls back, beaming up at her. “Safe journey?”

“Quite. I found myself with an escort about ten miles away - an elf with the strangest markings. I am sure _you_ would know nothing of that, of course.” Her smile is wry, her tone mildly disapproving but belied by the soft look in her eyes.

“Me? No idea what you're talking about,” he agrees, grinning. “I hear the Ambassador is looking for you. Catch up later?”

She nods. “I will find you.”

“You usually do,” he laughs, offering a short bow before letting her go.

 

* * *

 

He follows the Inquisitor into the mirror only once.

“Like _hell_ you are getting me to go back!” he snarls, shivering as Bull’s broad hands rest on his shoulders. “I will _never_ go back!”

“Easy, Varric, nobody’s going to force you to do anything.” Bull’s calming voice wavers only a little, and Varric tries to bear in mind the fact that the Qunari had just witnessed the race he had once called home threaten to destroy his new one.

“I can’t - shit, I _can’t_ do this again.” He reaches up to massage his chest, the tightness already unbearable. “I don’t want to feel like that again.”

The Inquisitor looks pained, but another voice cuts through the gloom of the makeshift war room.

“Perhaps Varric’s diplomatic skills might be put to use? He has leverage over the Fereldan ambassador.”

“Cassandra -”

She holds a hand up. “We _cannot_ ignore the Council, as serious as this new threat may be. Utilise his skills here, and take fighters through the mirror.”

The Inquisitor sighs, nodding. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me, Varric. I only thought your experiences with the Qunari in Kirkwall might be better valued.”

He nods, sharing a look with the Seeker before Bull moves his hands. “I’ll go report to Ruffles, then.”

“Could you tell her what has transpired here?”

“Sure.” He smiles tightly before taking his leave, hand brushing past Cassandra’s. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Good luck,” she replies softly, “I fear you will need it more than I.”

 

* * *

 

By the end of the fourth day, the fear is manageable again, and Cassandra no longer travels through the eluvian.

He had once thought the gardens of Halamshiral to be somewhat overdone and gaudy. Now, he sits on a bench by the fountains and basks in the quiet, writing a note for his seneschal.

“Varric?”

“Seeker.” He smiles at the familiar voice, patting the seat next to him. She leans into him, a soft sigh escaping her, and he tilts his head to catch her eye. "Alright?"

"I had hoped for something more peaceful from these talks," she admits. "But that was naive."

He chuckles, shrugging slightly. "Maybe a little. We're fighting a war on two fronts now, but Ruffles is an expert in diplomatic warfare, and I'm sure Tiny has things well in hand through the mirrors."

"Doubtless." She offers her hand, and he hums softly as her fingers wrap around his. "How are you holding up? This must be difficult.”

"I'm fine."

"Truly?"

He nods. "Chantry Scouts honour.”

"You were never a Chantry Scout,” she teases.

“I wanted to be, but I wasn’t exactly encouraged.” He smiles as she laughs. “I had a rough few days, but… I’m better. I'm more worried about everyone else, really. Wish you didn’t have to go through that damned mirror for me."

“I went because I was needed.”

“Mm.” He squeezes her hand softly. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you. Very much.” Her thumb curls over his knuckles. “Is Dorian still watching us?”

“Of course. Otherwise I’d have kissed you already.”

She chuckles. “So you say. How much coin does he stand to lose?”

“A ridiculous amount, of which Curly promised me half.”

“And do I get half of _that_ for my patience?” she teases.

“Ah, come on, Seeker, you get _all_ of it. Half in coin and half in lavish gifts.” She laughs again, and he pulls away to smile up at her. “But make no mistake, I really _do_ want to kiss you right now.”

She looks for a moment like she might cave, but she shoves his arm and laughs, and beyond them Varric can hear Dorian’s annoyed tones.

He chuckles, squeezing her hand before he lets go slowly, returning to his letter as she beckons the mage over.

 

* * *

 

The truth about Solas is a bitter pill to swallow, and Varric is left wondering if he will be left standing in the ruins of his city again when the Dread Wolf comes calling.

He thinks of Anders, and his fists clench.

And then he thinks of Merrill, and wonders how he is going to break all of this to her.

The anxiety ebbs a little. The guilt remains.

 

* * *

 

Varric does not want to say goodbye.

They are some of the last to leave - Dorian’s reluctance to leave for his homeland is understandable, and he pulls the Seeker into a tight hug as Varric and Cullen discuss potential opportunities for the Commander after the Inquisition is dismantled.

“You’re always welcome in Kirkwall, Curly. It’s a much better city these days.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Perhaps, in time. We shall see.” He smiles, before shaking Varric’s hand. “To better days.”

“May they come around again,” he agrees, before turning to face the Seeker.

She smiles sadly. “Must it always be this way?” she asks softly.

He pulls her in close, one hand light on her cheek. “Cassandra, I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but -”

She leans down, pressing her lips to his, and beyond them Dorian swears loudly. “I would have it be soon.” She laughs. “Perhaps I will bring my Order to this quarry of yours after all.”

“I can arrange that. Comtesse of the Bone Pit.”

She laughs again. “You _would_ , just to add to my titles. But I think it might be some time before our paths cross again.”

He smiles, shrugging. “As long as you need.”

She hugs him tightly. “I _will_ come home to you.”

“You’d better. I don’t have anyone else to give my heart to. It’s... a little battered, but -”

“I would be honoured,” she whispers against his skin, “honoured beyond words to care for your soldier’s heart, in exchange for mine.”

He presses his face into her neck, smile wide. “I love you.”

“I love you.” No qualifiers, no other truth.

They part, slowly, and the smile she wears is brighter than the sun to him.

“Stay safe, yeah?” he says, aiming for nonchalant. “I expect you to come back.”

“I suppose I shall have to,” she sighs, before laughing. “I have a Bone Pit to lord over, after all.”

 

* * *

 

Time heals all wounds, but Varric knows that his scars healed because of _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In real life, recovering from PTSD is rarely straightforward or easy, but we are luckier than Varric in that we have our own Cassandra Pentaghasts in the world - people who have come out the other side and are willing to help. The road is long, but there is always a light to guide you, and finding a place you are comfortable and happy is worth it.
> 
> -v.


End file.
